


Running Circles Around Your Non-Stop Mind

by mobilisinmobili



Series: Cross My Heart and Hope You Die [8]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: AR Febuwhump (Alex Rider), Alex Rider is a Mess, Ben Daniels Deserves a Raise, Blood and Violence, Friends Don't Let Friends Die, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Mission Fic, Tom Harris Needs a Hug, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:21:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mobilisinmobili/pseuds/mobilisinmobili
Summary: Tom is given 24 nerve-racking hours to try and save Alex's life.(For Febuwhump day 7)
Relationships: Ben "Fox" Daniels & Alex Rider, K-Unit & Alex Rider, Tom Harris & Alex Rider, Tom Harris & K-Unit
Series: Cross My Heart and Hope You Die [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762225
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22
Collections: AR Febuwhump 2021





	Running Circles Around Your Non-Stop Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Song inspo:  
> AJR: Burn the House Down   
> Sickick: Infected   
> Bülow: Get Stupid

"What sort of sick joke is this?!"

"And again at your eight o'clock. No need to turn, Mr. Harris. I am sure you realize by now."

And within the space of a heartbeat, Tom felt his phone vibrate in his hands, another anonymous message with yet another unsettling photo. 

A photo of him. His friends. Their table at the outdoor spot they chose at a busy pub on a busy Saturday lunch rush after a few games of footie at the local park. It wasn't a big group, but big enough to warrant the worry that was starting to run goosebumps up and down Tom's arms, sending a wave of cold sweat down his spine. Years of unintentional instinctual training from Alex's end over in the shadowy realm of SIS.

The one that had fucked up yet again, or so it seemed. He couldn't be a hundred percent sure. 

Alex wasn't in London. Or he wasn't _supposed_ to be, anyway. He was supposed to be somewhere in the big wide world chasing down some bad guys with some high action car chases and all-out firefights in shady alleyways. Like all those Bond films they'd binged the last time Alex had been sent home and grounded to desk work for a solid month to rest and recoup. 

But this?

It was just _too_ smoke and daggers to be connected to anything else. The stalker level photos, the anonymous call. 

_Everything_ . It just _screamed_ SIS which meant Alex too. It didn't make him feel any better about the situation at hand. 

If anything, he could feel the beginnings of panic coming on. 

Panic. Fear. Both. Pear? _Fanic_. He'd have to discuss it with Alex later on. But for now, all he could focus on was the voice on the other side of the call. 

The man sounded... _not_ British. But there _was_ an accent, somewhat lilted and… familiar. But as to _where_ he'd heard the accent Tom wasn't sure. What he _was_ sure about was the fact that he'd received yet another message. A photo, probably. 

"Who the fuck are you? What is this?" He made his way to leave the table, ignoring the questioning looks of concern.

"I suggest you sit back down, Mr. Harris. We have not finished yet. And I do not wish to see you unnecessarily hurt before we even begin. It would put a damper on the fun."

 _That_ had Tom's mouth snapping closed, legs turning to jelly as he all but dropped back to his seat, continuing to ignore the growing unease from the group. It was loud enough to carry. He could tell. And with the type of situation they were having, he wouldn't be surprised if some, if not _all_ of them felt at unease at the seemingly random but altogether menacing conversation Tom had been pulled into. 

"Fine. _Fine_ \- alright-" he muttered shakily, glancing around as inconspicuous as he could, twiddling the cold nearly drained glass of beer before him nervously, all thoughts of ordering a second collapsing in on itself. 

"You will receive a signal when we are through. The moment that signal is sent the game will begin." 

"And if I refuse? How am I supposed to just believe you? I don't even fucking know you."

"But you do know Rider, and he has been so _very_ keen on starting the game as soon as possible. He may be SAS certified for first aid, but I'd imagine holding someone's liver in place isn't exactly within his pay grade. Mr. Lotter agrees. Rider may be a special case, but twenty-one is _far_ too young to die, don't you think so?"

Tom flinched, feeling the full extent of the razor-sharp allusion. He got the message loud and clear. 

Daniel and the two others who hadn't shown. They had a reason…

And to make things _that_ much worse, Alex had Daniel, and Daniel was injured. _Bad_.

"If I do? If I say yes?" He gritted out. 

"Then your friend gets the help he needs and Rider won't have to put his hands on Mr. Evans _or_ your precious goalkeeper; Petrosian, I believe. He's not feeling all too well and the dose is starting to really kick in. Could barely keep the knife still the first time. He almost cut straight through!" 

He was going to be sick. That was certainly. Sick and panicked all at once…

"So what say you? Are you ready, player one?"

"...Yes."

"Wonderous! Your mission, should you accept it-" 

The reference wasn't missed on Tom and neither was the tinge of amusement in the man's voice. So the momentary pause echoed heavily through the static oppressive air as he heard his blood rushing in his ears.

"-is to save Alex Rider before he manages to kill himself."

* * *

"Hey. _Hey_ ! Daniel. Look at me. I need you to stay awake-" the noise of the bubbling blood overlapped unnervingly against the pained sobbing, giving yet another dimension to the hellish situation at hand. The way _Daniel_ just _couldn't_ meet his eye, clutching desperately at Alex's own blood-stained arm; begging through the near hyperventilation.

He didn't want to die. Not now and _certainly_ not like this; taken hostage in some dingy disgusting alley, bleeding out in the arms of his attacker who seemed _oddly_ reassuring all things considered. It was weird. 

The blond hadn't left. Hadn't just grabbed his wallet and dashed, going as far as to hold the wound closed as best he could, being gentle as to not jostle the sharp blade still stuck in his side. And then there was the apologizing. Again and again, almost in tandem to his own begging, rambling on about how things were going to be okay. How he _wasn't_ going to die. There had even been a promise. One that sounded _painfully_ sincere. Enough so that he kept breathing, in and out; hanging on for just a little longer even when things were starting to go dim around him. The sounds. The colors and light. His bodily control…

And in the last seconds, before he was positive he would succumb to unconsciousness, he heard a stutter of relief followed by a change of positions that had his head spinning and spots floating sending his vision tunneling. 

"-starts now. Go." It was the last thing he heard in the seconds before going under. Long enough that by then Alex was just another face melded into the crowd of people leaving Charing Cross Station towards the next RV point.

Twenty-three hours and fifty-some minutes and counting. 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 'poison'


End file.
